


Reminiscence

by MeObviously



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Headcanon, I wouldn't say it's gore, Not Really Character Death, One Shot, POV Outsider, The Outsider's Origin, but there is some depiction of blood and rituals, naturally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 06:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeObviously/pseuds/MeObviously
Summary: "The former fifteen-year-old boy trapped in complete darkness cried and screamed for the longest time. He tried scratching out the cold things stuck in his scull for most of it too. How long exactly nobody can tell as time operates in perverse ways inside the void. He pleated to whatever god must have punished him with this fade to kill him instead just to make it stop. Had he known at the time that the only god present was he himself it only would have made him cry out louder in despair."





	Reminiscence

**Author's Note:**

> Please, note that I altered some things and filled in gaps that obviously aren't canon. This is just my attempt of an explanation as to why the Outsider behaves like he does and how he became who he is/was (Death Of The Outsider).  
> 

He slowly reached for his own throat and started rubbing where he remembered the blade cutting through his pale white neck with ease. As if it had been butter, warm from the blood, he used to possess before having been bled out by the cultists like a pig, coursing through his veins just underneath. He remembers the hot liquid oozing out of the cut running down left and right to pool on the cold stone altar. But parts of it ran down his throat instead and covered both the former white collar and collarbone in red. Not that he had seen it of course. His eyes had been in the process of transforming into the black marbles resting in his eye sockets to this very moment. Losing the ability to see the world from the perspective of a human being that could only perceive so much and filter out anything unsettling.

Instead, seeing everything, including the unsettling, the “bad” things. The hatred and corruption, all the cruel things human beings, as he had been one himself until they had robbed his name, did to each other. The lies and manipulation, the violence in all its different colors and shapes. Pain and suffering in all sorts of forms: bruises, cuts, scars, burnings and the loss of limbs the coughing of blood and vomiting of excrement. But less obvious ones too like a crying mother cradling a dead child in her arms as if that could bring it back somehow. A man in uniform pressing a gun barrel to his head as he wishes the cruel world and his forbidden love a last farewell. All the brutal and disgusting things this “cruel world” had to offer, the void, that had merged with him in part, let him experience second hand. As a spectator. A witness. His existence from then onwards was a testimony to humankind and everything it touched.

The former fifteen-year-old boy trapped in complete darkness cried and screamed for the longest time. He tried scratching out the cold things stuck in his skull for most of it too. How long exactly nobody can tell as time operates in perverse ways inside the void. He pleaded to whatever god must have punished him with this fade to kill him instead just to make it stop. Had he known at the time that the only god present was he himself, it only would have made him cry out louder in despair.

But after that time had passed the boy arose from the pitiful state of grief and self-loathing that had grabbed a hold of him as a reaction to all the image of horror the void provided him with. His “eyes” hadn’t produced any tears from the start; there was nothing to wipe off but had there been he would have done so. He and his expression had adjusted to the horrors of the world. An emotionless facial expression so it is called although there wasn’t exactly anything expressed in it. He had learned to take things as they were. He chose to let go of everything he knew about “right” and “wrong” about “good” and “evil”. He still knew what was supposedly what. He could distinguish between which of the two sides most humans would assign to what kind of person or behavior. But the part of him following these guidelines, his consciousness was dead. He had killed it in order to stop his own pain. He stopped pitying. He stopped empathizing. Stopped caring. Of course, this also meant not feeling other emotions that were believed to be much warmer as well. Happiness was no longer something he could obtain by second-hand. Mouths twisted to form smiles and the sounds of joyful laughter had stopped waking anything within the boy-turned-god. Unfortunately, as, like already stated beforehand, the void would have been able to show him absolutely anything, including the happiest moments of anybody’s lives. However, it preferred turning his attention towards things much darker.

Or perhaps it was the Outsider himself that deep down at the bottom of his dark and cursed soul had developed a preference for the suffering. At the very beginning it had been the horrors of the Isles and beyond that had had a grip on him simply as they were more powerful, more shocking. But just maybe in a sickly twisted way, the man who had lost his name had grown fond of the most wicked events presented to him by the void. Maybe the Abbey of the Everyman was right after all and the void had corrupted him to find a liking in watching people suffer. Maybe it had turned him “evil”. Or maybe the Outsider was reluctant to observe peaceful and happy sceneries for he was scared his emotions would betray him by forcing themselves back into his – still present but no longer beating – heart. Maybe he was scared his desperate desire for happiness, for closeness, simple human interaction, just being involved in some – anyway, for everything that had been robbed from him along with his name when they merged him with the void while taking his life – trapping him inside himself – could drive him to reattach his feelings. He couldn’t let that happen under any circumstances. He couldn’t feel again because feeling would mean caring and caring would lead to the crushing sadness and despair he had gotten to know. The images of all the “wrong-doings” were a constant reminder of that pain. That he will suffer just like these pitiful humans if he ever let it get to him again. But even though he tried his hardest to convince himself and later others that he did not care about anything including himself and his imprisonment, the loneliness he ignored best as possible still gnawed at him.

This was maybe the biggest reason as to why he felt somewhat pleased when rumors about his existence started spreading through the Isles. Because it meant that he still impacted the word in some form even if it was just hushed whispers and horror stories to keep children in check. It wasn’t for long until humans started to worship him. Started to grasp his attention by slaughtering animals and the like. The god was torn in what he should think of this. On one hand, he was glad to not have lost the entirety of his existence even if he merely existed in some human’s heads. These people gave the Outsider an identity. Something he had lost to the Twin Blade on the last day of his life.They gave him a new name: “The Outsider”. A cruel term for its closeness to reality. The “Outsider” and the void were in the center of everything. In every heart, every photography and every event at any given time they were there. But at the same time, he was an outsider. An observer. Standing in the middle of everything but doing nothing but stare from cold eyes at what the world has to offer them.

On the other hand, there was something pathetic about the way these humans tried to please him. Trying to toady to, what they came to call a “god” as if a dead dog or carvings made of whale bones colored in weird purple mood lighting was something the Outsider would enjoy particularly. There was nothing special about a dead dog or dead man or even a dead child. There wasn’t anything outstanding about painting strange symbols on walls using a damsel’s blood. None of what they were doing to please him resembled anything the Outsider wasn’t used and almost bored of seeing all the time. As if any of these humans had any influence on him or the void or anything else greater than themselves in any way. As if there was a meaning behind any of their actions or even their existences when the Outsider knew that there clearly was none. There was no deeper reason behind anything that was and happened in this world. One had to simply accept whatever it was and live with it. The other option would be to willingly give oneself over to the void. Stopping to pretend there was any meaning to be found in their existence and ending it early.

But soon there came along a human that proved him wrong. A person that proved that the living could be impactful and exciting. A person that became infamous for their resourceful methods to achieve their will. Someone that changed the course of history the Outsider had foreseen for humankind. Someone who’s decisions were to leave great and lasting impacts on the world they lived in. For the first time in decades, the Outsider had found someone that could surprise him. Someone that could spark curiosity in a god that was supposedly all-knowing. Someone that could satisfy his enormous craving for something remarkable for a change – at least to some extent. And it thrilled the Outsider so much that he decided to make things even more interesting. He granted the human supernatural powers so that they could further twist history in even more unexpected ways. He marked them with pride as his champion. Expecting nothing in return but for them to relieve the god even further from the up to this point exhaustingly predictable world he was forced to stare at through his cold black eyes for the rest of his eternal existence. He let his champion do as he pleased as making decisions for them would defeat the purpose of it all. There was nothing surprising or remotely interesting about a human that follows orders no matter the commander. Watching his marked react to his new-found powers and what he decided to do with it filled the Outsider with amusement. The surprising decisions his champion let the otherwise almost emotionless god feel something that came close to joy. The relieve of witnessing something interesting for a change was something easily confused with happiness.

And the Outsider craved that feeling from the very moment he experienced it for the first time. As a result, he actively searched for people that were different. Special, in their way of thinking, the situation they were in, the potential they had to achieve something outstanding. Be it “good” or “bad”. He found one in Corvo Attano. A man born as someone of low social standing but talented and sharp minded. Able to work himself up the social ladder until he reached the titles of Royal protector as well as unofficial lover to an Empress and father to an Empress-to-be. Then getting pushed of that same ladder by a boringly ruthless spymaster and an assassin that used to be a promising individual but had lost his edge over time. How would a man like this with everything he had worked hard for and “loved” robbed from him in mere minutes react? What would such an individual do to the people that had “wronged” him if given the chance to do anything at all? It had preyed on the Outsider’s mind the second Daud had pushed the blade into Empress Jessamine Kaldwin’s guts.

Little did he know that Corvo Attano would be one of the last few to receive his mark for the end of his reign and curse was soon to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it. Also, in case you still have some time left, I would love to get some feedback, seeing as this is the first ff I have uploaded since five years ago (and the very first I ever uploaded in English). *-*  
> PS. Can you pass off using "maybe" in every other sentence as a stylistic device? Because I just spontaneously decided I could.


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